Witness
by bakasake
Summary: In Godric's Hollow that fateful night so many years ago, Voldemort thought himself as the only one who remembered what happened. But there was another one, unsuspecting to everyone and everything that silently watched these events unfold.


A/N: A story I had at fictionalley, and decided to bring over here.

Witness

There was something in the air that dawn as the Sun rose. As soon as his rays hit the landscape of Britain, he could feel the tension reverberating through the earth. Something would happen today. Not just any something (since something happens everyday), the feeling was rather inclined to being a _Something_. Yes, a great Something would happen today, but it would be far beyond the comprehension of the Sun. He did not fully grasp the ways that were human life, but had been the day's guardian from creation.

The Sun started to anticipate. Other times when he had these feelings, he had seen wars break out and great armies destroy one another. Not quite understanding the significance of these casualties, the Sun enjoyed these entertainments. He was always on the look for something thrilling to witness and, really, can you blame him? Sitting in the sky for all eternity must be a ridiculously boring job. But today...he just _knew_ there was going to be a world-changing event going on. Following his daily pattern, he saw many a-thing (for a sun has an all-observant eye that can see better than any telescope to the 10th power); babies being born, old men and women going to their rest, people milling about. He even watched a police car chase for a bit thinking it to be the Something. He soon realized the fault in his logic because the feeling was now whispering to him..._not yet._

The day dragged on as all days do. Then, at the first few brushes of England's dusk, he sat upon the edge of the country, still searching intently for the event he knew to be happening soon before the moon took over to keep her night's vigil over the country.

Then the feeling seemed to grow more excited until it disappeared and the Sun realized that he was intently observing a small village south of London. At the edge of town, there hung a black sign, swinging on its hinges. The Sun sharpened his sight and saw, in peeling gold letters, **Godric's Hollow** written on it. There were only about ten or so quaint houses, smoke rising from the miniature chimneys. But it was here. Where the _Something_ would take place. The event was close at hand.

His gaze finally settled upon a house in the very back of the settlement, the farthest apart from any another home. It was robin's egg blue, a painted wooden house with two stories. It was a decent place, with a magically clean sheen on the paint. The front of the home housed a large porch, where there was only a rocking chair, swaying slowly by the bit of wind just taken up. Through the plain front door with brass handles was a living room. The room looked like it was usually a neat and tidy area...now, things were strewn over chairs and couches in haste. A fire roared in the corner, giving a warm, quiet, relaxing glow that was repelled by the chaotic state of the room. Go through a door to your left and there was kitchen (in the same state as the living room). It was white marble, and a brown table was in the center. On the white counter was a letter, crumpled in a way that suggested it had been read many times. The Sun twisted his gaze to shine directly on the lettering.

_Dear James,_

_I wrote as soon as I found out; you are not safe. The Fidelius Charm has been broke, you've been betrayed. Get out of the house as soon as you can. He's coming after you. You must hurry, he may have already cursed the house so you cannot leave. Go!_

_Albus_

While the Sun thought this mildly interesting, he wanted to continue his search of the house. If there was time before the "show", he would return to the letter.

Up the stairs onto a soft cream carpet where you would find three bedrooms; one, a nursery with toys and blankets and cribs thrown about. Two, a room that seemed rarely used (a guestroom). Three, the last, which was, if possible, even more disheveled than the first floor. All in all, it was a cozy, comfortable and (usually) clean abode. The family resided here in comfort, but since _Something _was happening (or was to happen), everything was thrown to turmoil.

Somewhere nearby, a robed man made his way into the town and his hood lingered in the direction, (the Sun was not precisely aware of what he was gazing at; the dark hood shrouded his facial features), of the distant blue house for many moments before, with slow, deliberate strides, setting out towards it. He stopped beside the entrance sign and examined it for a few moments. After he passed, the letters melted away and were lost in the wind.

In the kitchen at the table were a man who stood and a woman who sat. The man had dark hair and glasses, while the woman had wild red hair and eyes that looked like emeralds. They were speaking quickly, and in urgent gestures though the sun understood not a word they said (for the sun has no ears). But, whereas the words were not apparent to him, he could see their lips moving at an ultimate speed. The man paced and talked, his hands holding each other behind his back. The red-haired woman began to cry and jumped up from her seat. The man held took her in his arms and held her tightly. He squeezed her with emotion and his eyes seemed to glimmer with unshed tears.

But the embrace held for only for a short instant before the man distanced them by grabbing the woman's shoulders and whispering very fast, his eyes smoldering. Stuck in the man's grip, she gave a sob, then slowly nodded. They kissed for a moment then he whipped his head like he heard a noise. He turned back to her with wide eyes and pushed her towards the steps. She lingered, whimpering, for a moment but the man quickly turned and insistently shouted and gestured for her to escape. She tripped up the stairs, the tears running down her face in rivers. She entered the nursery and slammed the door shut. Meanwhile, the man had been descending slowly upon the house. The Sun had watched him before (he was good entertainment), watched him perform cruel acts, seen him betray and kill. Even the dim-witted Sun had to agree that he was a dangerous and treacherous fellow.

The dark-haired man in the house anxiously started to pace again, this time in the living room. Every few seconds he would glance out the windows, and every few minutes he shouted up things to the woman. The Sun knew from the man's stiffness that he was petrified and wishing time would stand still... but the world keeps spinning. Time stops for none.

The robed man finally made it to the drive of the house. He scrutinized the tawny, lion colored yellow mailbox that had written, in garnet letters, (the colors of the Gryffindor House),** The Potters**.

With painstaking deliberation, he walked up the drive, and up the steps. On the porch, he turned to the rocking chair. A mutter, then a moment later, it burst into flames.

Inside, James Potter stopped in his tracks and frantically shouted to the woman. He drew from his own deep blue robes a thin stick.

The house was entered and the man with dark hair greeted him (or so the Sun thought). The treacherous man said something before a flash made the room glow green. The spectacular fire winked out of existence and the Potter man gave a shudder before dropping to the floor. The black-robed man stepped over the still body of the other man and continued his slow step into the kitchen.

Up the flight of stairs, Lily Potter was in the nursery. She had lifted a bundle from the crib and cooed softly to it now. She, though still making relaxing sounds to the armload, walked across the hall into her bedroom and firmly shut it. She raised her own thin stick and the Sun saw the mechanisms in the door lock together. She went to a far corner of the bedroom and placed the bundle down. She then began to move objects by pointing her stick at them and barricading the door with them.

The man in the robe got to the foot of the stairs, and, before ascending them, turned to the kitchen and the stove caught fire. He then turned to the stairs, one at a time.

Hearing the footsteps, the woman's look shot towards the door and the Sun noticed tears running down her cheeks again. She was in the corner of the room, rocking the bundle back and forth; which he could now see was a baby with dark hair like the man who fainted. Harry Potter. She was whispering to the child with dark hair and trying her best to smile. She was still crying. She hugged the child to her face to smother him with kisses. Harry, not understanding, giggled and kissed her tears.

The other man approached the door finally. The Sun watched in wonder as the door was blown to bits and the man stepped into the room. The woman gave a startled cry. Her stick flew from her hands and she reached for it. But it was in the man's grasp now and he twirled it in his long, slender fingers. They seemed to talk for a minute, Lily doing more crying than talking. But again that green light filled the room and the woman, who had been kneeling, had not a long fall before she hit the floor.

Then the treacherous man approached the baby Potter who was behind his mother, playing with her red curls. He was young, not more than one at the most. The Sun had seen so many children before him sacrificed, that he was surprised to see he felt fear for the young boy. But the man in the robe had no remorse. He lifted his hood back and never before had the Sun seen such a hideous sight as his face. It didn't have the substance to even be called a face. It was a flat, blank surface, with only slits to signify eyes, nose, and mouth. The pallor was a sickly white...not even white; it was a transparent film covering his protruding bones. His scalp was hairless with a smooth look. The nose was one with the face, flat as well. The eyes were what frightened the Sun the most. Although no more than slits were seen, the red color of the eyes and the serpantile features they possessed; it was enough to paralyze with fear. But the emptiness there, the impassiveness that he showed about taking another life, that was the true horror for the Sun. He had never before seen a human' eyes so blank, so expressionless. Was he even human?

Yet those blank eyes filled with a strange ecstasy as soon as he came near the child. He bent down to his face and smiled, wide and jovial, baring sharp teeth. Then he threw back his head and laughed. The Sun thought it over, thought that the grotesque man had finally seen reason when seeing the innocence of a child. But a moment later that was disproved.

Soon the man had his sleeves rolled up and another thin stick he was brandishing about. Another new feeling encompassed the Sun; coldness. On the man's forearm there was a black tattoo that made a shiver pass through the Sun and his rays flickered briefly. The black mark was a ghastly skull with a tongue of a serpent. The serpent slithered in and out of the wide skull mouth, like a true serpent's tongue. The snake's tongue did the same movements.

His wand came down and for the third time the room lit with a green glow. The Sun winced, afraid to see Harry lying there dead, but this time the child remained upright. The alien man though, was going through something the Sun had again never before seen. The green light rebounded off the child, engulfing the man. He was thrown in the air, as if floating in the verdant cloud. He was still alive, the Sun could tell. But his violent spasms were enough to sicken anyone. As he convulsed, his flesh split from his bones. The skeleton slowly disintegrated while he screamed. All that was left was his spirit, and, already ripped and torn, caved in upon itself. Then he disappeared. As if nothing had happened, little Harry sat and continued his child's play. But one thing was different; there was a small, red, lightning shaped scar carved into Harry's forehead.

Downstairs the rocking chair's fire had spread to the porch and now was climbing the supports for the roof. And the flames in the kitchen were beginning to wander to the staircase...

There the sun left his narrative. He had been holding on as long as he could to see the ending of the show, the finale. But his last rays on England were finally diminished. He had eternity to ponder on these events, to make some sense of them. That was some _Something_, all right. The sun had seen some of the most repulsive and original horrors of the Earth, but nothing had prepared him for what he had just beheld. He had enjoyed some of the most terrible things to happen to mankind, and yet had his first experiences of empathy, of fright. Before he had cheered when all were decimated. Now he mourned. He doubted to ever forget the evening's events, to forever relive the highly disturbing memory of the robed man. But, as a sun would be, he then was drawn into a different dilemma and forgot all about the affair. Yet in the British wizarding world...it was just the beginning of Harry Potter's story.


End file.
